The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘His inner circle?’

‘Jon had a special select group, the A-list of finance people and influencers – the really big hitters. Anyway, on this jaunt, Jago got into some sort of argument with Jonathon.’

‘Were you there?

Melissa shook her head.

‘I wasn’t, but my friend Willem, one of the stewards, had to escort him off the boat by tender and get him to shore.’

‘What was the argument about?’

‘I don’t know. But apparently Bain didn’t go quietly.

It was a big loss of face for him. You know that phrase “if looks could kill?” Willem said that was how Jago Bain was looking at Jon as the security guys led him away.’

She paused. ‘And that’s all I can tell you.’

She shrugged as if it was nothing, but Lara had a feeling that it was important. Very important indeed.

Chapter 14

‘What the hell is Lara doing in Monaco anyway?’ said Charlie irritably. He had a cigarette clamped between his teeth as he used both hands to adjust his tie. Hermes, thought Alex. And a Tom Ford suit – that was definite, as Charlie had repeatedly mentioned that the designer had ‘insisted’ on sending it over during London Fashion Week.

‘I know she’s got that wretched bike. But I’d never thought the Grand Prix was her thing.’

They were standing on the promenade between the road and the Port Hercules marina, a discreet distance from the yacht Goliath, venue for the most prestigious party of the weekend in honour of designer Christian LeFey. Charlie was keen to get onboard and ‘get stuck into the fizz’ and was annoyed that Lara was keeping them waiting.

‘My guess is that she needed to get out of London,’ said Alex, not wanting to mention Lara’s investigation into Sandrine’s death. ‘Do you blame her after the week she’s had?’

Charlie shrugged, clearly unmoved. ‘I suppose. But I hope she realises there’s a dress code. Did you see how she turned up at the anniversary party last week? Mother was not pleased.’

Alex tried to bite his tongue. For all his posh-boy posturing, most of the time Charlie was fun company, but occasionally he was just a dick.

Alex looked down as his phone beeped.

Running late. Go in. I’ll busk it. Lx

‘You’re in luck,’ said Alex. ‘Lara says she’ll see us in there.’

Charlie rolled his eyes, ‘Wonderful, she’s given us permission,’ he said, flicking his cigarette into the water and heading for the yacht.

As they walked up the gangway, it was obvious that the Goliath lived up to its name.

‘It’s bloody huge,’ muttered Charlie admiringly. The superyacht was also surprisingly chic, with smooth art deco lines in cream and walnut and gold. The floors looked like real marble: they probably were. The wealth in Monaco was staggering – and was supposed to be. These yachts were shining castles on mountain tops, blaring declarations of power and imperviousness, a carving over the gate that read ‘only the truly privileged may enter here’. The 10,000 euro-a-day moorings functioned as an exclusive club and a shop window that implied further riches for those who could get onboard.

Alex could see why Christian LeFey, the Parisian priest of high fashion, had chosen the Goliath as the venue for his show-stopper party. In a harbour packed with gigantic yachts, the Goliath was the biggest, and in Monaco, where restraint was seen as weakness, that made Christian’s party the most important. Fashion was a conjuring trick and this party was the equivalent of a Las Vegas magician firing rockets into the sky.

‘Is that thingy, the actress?’ whispered Alex, as they walked up a softly lit staircase onto the main deck, which seemed to have been designed as a high-class recreation of the Cotton Club, all crisp white tablecloths and over-sized Lalique sculptures.

‘Yes, it’s Julianne George. Calm down, it’s like you’ve never seen a celebrity before.’

They both took a glass of champagne, fittingly served in vintage amber-coloured coupes. Alex had been to a lot of parties since he’d risen to the executive team, but this was on another level. Yes, Charlie was connected, but it was still testament to his world-class hustling skills that he had secured invitations to this most glittering bash.

‘This suits you,’ said Charlie, lifting his glass to Alex in salute.

‘Between you and me, it’s a blessing in disguise that Darius had to go to brown-nose the PM. Although one shivers to think of what Darius is saying to the poor man. Hopefully none of that stuff he was spouting about muzzling the press after the Tait trial.’

Alex glanced at Charlie.